Monday, April 15, 2013

"Pensees De Paree - Le Commencement"

Fasten your seat
belts, Time Travelers.We are rocketing
back to March 18th, 2013.Many of us were younger then. All
of us were younger then.But the period
is not so lost in the enveloping mists of time that we cannot still remember
what it was like.I mean, come on.It was, like, four weeks ago.

Strapped in and
ready?Okay.Here we go.

On the night before our departure, we had dinner at a local
restaurant.As I availed myself of the
Men’s Room facilities, with the awareness of the “bidet” tradition floating
through my consciousness, I felt a strong sense of moving to the “Parisian
frame of mind”, as I resisted the insinuating impulse of squatting on the
urinal.

------------------------------

To prepare myself, prior to our impending visit, I purchased
an enormously informative survey history entitled The Seven Ages of Paris by Alistair Horne, which methodically chronicles
the development of the city from its 2000 year-old inception (422 fact-filled
pages, with photographs, though they are not counted as pages.)Unfortunately, being a very slow reader, my
purchase if the book was not prior enough.

By the time of our departure, I
was only up to 1187.(By continuing reading during our two-hour
pre-boarding sojourn at the airport – thank you, terrorists – by “takeoff”
time, I had nudged along the time-line to 1456.)

------------------------------

On extended airplane rides (and other times), many travelers pass the time listening
to individualized musical playlists from their high-tech contraptions.I, instead, sing to myself, inevitably
instructed by an accompanying family member to keep the melodiousness
down.

When my repertoire runs out, (which includes numerous clamoring
demands for “encores” from my enthusiastic “audience of one”), I proceed to
entertain myself with a medley of cherished comedy routines, most particularly snippets
from the inspired Mel Brooks-Carl Reiner improvisations of The Two Thousand Year Old Man.

The selected favorite on this
excursion involved Reiner’s question concerning the medical treatment related
to serious caveman-era-incurred physical injuries.The reply to this query was that, in that
prehistoric era, there was no medical assistance whatsoever.What happened was,

"You just lay there till you got better.”

To which I filigreed, “No medicine, no antibiotics.You got dirt in it, you were a goner.”

I make no claims of Brooksian imagination.But when you’re flying half way around the world,
you have plenty of time for comedic interpolation.

------------------------------

“Immigration” at the Paris airport was noticeably
unfocused.As we stepped up for our turn
at what we expected would be a conscientious grilling concerning our visitorial
intentions, we were instead met with startling disinterest.

We are not talking indifference,
as in, “So you’re here.We’re not
interested.”As the Immigration Official
wordlessly stamped our passports, he appeared head-turningly “other-directed”,
laughing and chattering with fellow
armed and uniformed Immigration Officials over what felt suspiciously like a particularly
felicitous “celebrity sighting.” As the
French are universally recognized for their passion for cinema, one might easily
imagine who the source of their untempered enthusiasm was.

It was like, “Terrorists?Who cares!David Lynch is in the airport.”

The “David Lynch” reference is not my cheesy attempt at a
gratuitous “name joke.”An awaiting Car
Service sign revealed that David Lynch was, in actuality, on the premises. Leading
immediately to thoughts of disappointed terrorists complaining, “We had our whole
story ready, and they didn’t even ask.”

------------------------------

Ensconced in our hotel-bound taxi, I broke out my fractured
French to inquire,

“Combien de temps
avant arriver a l’hotel?”(Translation:“How much time before to
arrive at the hotel?”)

The driver’s response was, “About an hour and a quarter to
two hours, depending on the traffic.”When you’ve been traveling for thirteen hours, you would have liked to
receive a more comforting prediction.

But that’s how Paris would be our entire trip.No matter how speedily you would prefer your activities
to proceed, it was unquestionably the
locals who were in charge of the clock.

------------------------------

And finally, we are there.An attractive boutique hotel.On
a hidden-away, almost alley-like street in Paris.Throughout our stay, without exception, not a
single cab driver would have any idea where it was.

If it weren’t for GPS,
we’d have spent our entire ten-day visit, driving aimlessly around Paris,
searching for the Victoria Palace.

And never finding it.

------------------------------

Ten days in Paris (minus one “day trip” to the Normandy
beaches.)

As a bilingual Jackie Gleason might have said:

“And awayyyy nous
allon.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------Due to technical difficulties beyond my control, a song I posted on April the second didn't produce a song. I have re-posted it. And it's still worth listening to. I hope it works this time.